


The Girlfriend Experience

by fadewithfury (foxmoon), LostinFic



Category: Broadchurch, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Pining, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Teninch Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9373199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmoon/pseuds/fadewithfury, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: Hardy asks Hannah to show him the Girlfriend Experience in preparation for a blind date.





	1. The fake date

**Author's Note:**

> Trope: Fake Dating  
> Chapter 1 by Fadewithfury  
> Beta: Lostinfic

A sharp ray of sunlight awoke Hannah. That meant she’d slept past two, and even after overnight clients, she hated wasting so much of her day. (She never slept on a job. A safety rule, right up there with no drinking on a job). She stretched and wallowed for a little longer as she went over her mental list of things to do. Her mobile rang.

“Hey—hello,” she said with a yawn. Not even bothering to look at the ID.

“Ehm, H-Hannah?”

 “Alec! Always a treat to hear your voice.” She smiled and fell back against the pillows. Alec Hardy. Tall, slim, Scottish. The older brother of her uni flatmate, Helen. They’d met when he helped his sister move to London for uni, and kept in touch sporadically over the years. She’d wanted to shag him then, but he had a new wife and zero inclination for branching out. Instead, she had gone for Ben, also tall and slim. 

“I, ehm, did I wake you?” he asked.

“No. I’m up. How are you?”

A few seconds of silence passed before he answered. “...Fine. Fine.”

“Sure you’re all right? You’re acting a bit off.”

“Is this how you normally answer your work phone? I thought—”

Hannah bolted upright. “What!”

“—it’d be more, ah... Breathy?”

She peered briefly at the phone in her hand. Yep, she’d switched her personal with her work  phone.  “Fuck! ” She flopped back into bed with a groan. “I was totally knackered when I got home. I’m getting so old,” she whigned.

Alec chuckled. “Aren’t you going to—”

“Hang on. Why did you ring this phone? How did you know the number? Am I in trouble?”

“There you go.” He sounded amused. There was a rustle of him switching ears. “Um, you’re not in trouble. I… need your help.” He coughed. “ _Belle’s_ help.”

Hannah nearly stopped breathing. She couldn’t tell which she felt more: thrilled or apprehensive. He wouldn’t dare hire her for sex, so did he need her help with a case?

“Go on.”

“I’ve got a sodding,” he paused, then said through his teeth,”blind date, and I’m not—I don’t—” He sighed.

“Aww, Alec! Who did that to you? You can’t even stand that the concept exists for other people let alone yourself.”

So, he’d moved on from his divorce. What a time that had been. He’d left Sandbrook and crashed with Helen for a couple months in her posh high rise penthouse. Helen, an art director with very little time to spare, asked Hannah to check on him frequently for fear he’d do something stupid in her absence. Hannah would bring him food and sit with him while he dealt with the swift divorce and searched for jobs. She’d listen to him go on about missing Daisy, and try to get him to take his mind off of things with popcorn and nature documentaries. He’d been much too miserable the entire time to give her a second glance. She hadn’t tried, though. For as many years as she’s wanted him, she cared for him even more.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m the idiot that agreed to it. Just… please, Han. It’s been so long I don’t know what to do.”

“Most people meet, have a drunken shag, then they realise two years have gone by and find themselves bored or committed. Or both.”

“So, nothing’s changed then.”

“Nope.”

He sighed for about the fifth time.

“Now tell me, Alec, why you need the help of a prostitute?”

“Don’t you do something where you pretend to be a girlfriend for a night?”

“The girlfriend experience, yeah.” Hannah went to her closet. “Are you saying you want to hire me to train you on how to go on a date?”

“...Yes. Basically.”

“Okay.” Hannah smiled, feeling a little smug. Feeling like she’d very much like to make him forget about that blind date. She perused her collection of négligée, just in case . “You know you don’t have to pay me to help you out, right?”

“I just thought… I didn’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage.” He went quiet again for a beat, before asking: “There’s no sex required, is there?”

“That’s up to you. There’s no discount for leaving it out, though.” She went straight to her ‘sweet but naughty’ section. Pale colours, soft and feminine styles.

“Good, right then. I don’t want that. Not that I wouldn’t want—I mean, you’re very—I just—Fuck.”

She punched the air with a massive grin, but quickly sobered. “So. Where are you taking me?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Tomorrow night, eight o’clock at _Galvin La Chapelle_. Dress smart. I’ll meet you at the bar. Don’t worry about reservations.”

“Oh—okay. I can do that. So, ehm.. What about the exchange?’

“If you figured out my work number, you can figure out that bit, detective.”

“Don’t be cheeky. Just tell me.”

“Two grand plus the evening’s amenities and I’m yours for three hours.”

He made a strange noise she could only discern implied his immense disbelief.

Hannah giggled. “I’m joking! Well, not really, but don’t be daft. I’m not gonna charge you for my time. We’ll call it a practice date instead, yeah? It’ll be the very same as the GE, but you’re practicing with me, not Belle.”

“Yes. That-that’s much better.” The relief in his voice was palpable.

“See you tomorrow.”

///

Hannah arrived at the restaurant an hour early. She secured their table, a quiet spot in a dimly lit alcove that would afford them privacy.  It also gave her a good view of the bar, so she could observe when Hardy arrived and not be easily noticed. This strategy kept her safe in case she ended up recognizing her prospective client from her personal life, or if he gave her an uneasy feeling when he showed. It also helped her to avoid unwanted advances of anyone else at the bar. 

For the client, it enabled them some discretion in a situation that could make them feel awkward. She could always tell which man at the bar was her John, but they tended to not have the same perceptive ability when it came to identifying an escort. In this instance, she did it for the barrier it provided, and to give him the proper experience. They were not on a date. This was, in essence, a consultation. _Remember that._

She wrote to pass the time as she waited. The restaurant filled, and eventually she put her tablet away to focus on the bar. He arrived twenty minutes early, dressed in a dark jumper over a button-up. At this distance, he appeared calm yet a little stiff. He asked for a glass of water, which made her wonder if he still had heart issues. After observing for a few minutes, she went to the ladies to freshen up, then went out to greet him.

Up close, the discomfort was more noticeable in his profile. Deep dimple in his jaw. A furrowed brow. He kept his limbs close to his body so no one would get too close. The bar was full, so she couldn’t casually sit next to him. She tapped him on the shoulder when he didn’t notice her approach.

“Hey you,” she said.

He turned, and the tension in his posture loosened slightly at first sight of her. “Hannah,” he said on an exhale, which made her oddly self conscious. He stood from the bar stool. “You look lovely.”

Hannah smiled and swept a strand of fringe from tickling her temple. The way he took her in made her blush, and she let her gaze slip to the floor. Wait. Is he playing the part? Or was that real? He wasn’t the type to play games, so it had to be real. _Don’t get too excited, he just hasn’t seen you in a while._

She’d fretted over whether to dress like Belle or to just be herself, and in the end went with the latter. No fake lashes, no push-up bra. Nothing from her escort collection. Just Hannah on a date. A phenomenon rare enough that she spent her entire morning at the shops and settled on a sensual swing dress with a soft cherry blossom pattern. The neckline dipped low enough for him to catch a glimpse of her blush pink bra. That had seemed like a solid strategy earlier, but now she just felt silly. 

“Heh, not so bad yourself.” A lame, _lame_ , attempt at recovering.

“So am I dressed all right then?”

“Yes, really fit. Pick it yourself?” She let her eyes roam over his slim physique and broad shoulders.

“No. Had my mum pick it out for me.”

Hannah chuckled. She'd forgotten how funny he could be.

“You said not to worry about a reservation, so…”

“Oh, come with me.”

She led him to the table, and he held out her chair for her to sit before he sat himself. _Good if the woman is into the old fashioned stuff, bad if she’s a modern feminist_. Hannah saw herself as a bit of both.

“So, who set this date up for you? I've been dying to know.”

He groaned a bit. “Helen.”

“Oh, I should've known! Only a sibling would do something so simultaneously annoying and audacious.”

“That's her.” Hardy picked up the menu and frowned slightly. “Ehm, I haven’t a bloody clue how to read French. I thought I requested a beginner’s guide to dating. What if I order you the, eh... _agneau_ , and it turns out to be a sodding frog head on a plate and nothing else. Oh, except some foam made of God knows what.”

Hannah laughed for a good thirty seconds before she could compose herself enough to answer. “Don’t worry, they won't speak French. It’s just part of the atmosphere. I think it’s lovely.”

“Shouldn’t a French atmosphere involve people only speaking to you in bloody French so you feel like an idiot the whole time? Then you’ve got nothing out of it but a pile of foamed mushrooms on your plate and a five hundred quid bottle of wine.”

“Stop,” she said between laughs. “Behave, we’re on a date in a former church. Anyway, how to date in Paris is level five.”

Hardy smiled at that, and his gaze lingered on her. Her cheeks warmed.

“Just ask the sommelier what he recommends from the wine selection. Look at your date’s reaction to what he says, and you’ll know.”

“I can do that.”

“You’re off to a good start.” Her smile wouldn’t seem to go, so she just let it stay.

The sommelier arrived for their drink order, and Hardy wasted no time in ordering the Saint-Véran Chardonnay after asking him for his recommendations. Once he left, Hannah sat forward.

“You’re bloody good. How did you know?”

“You said to watch for your reaction.”

“I know, but I had none. I tried really hard not to have one, you know, to make it more real I reckon.  So tell me how you knew?”

“You looked at me after he said it. You looked at him for the rest. Subtle eye movement.”

Hannah bit her lip as she smiled. “Sure you need my help?”

“You’ve no idea.”

The sommelier returned with their bottle of wine, and poured them each a glass. He waxed on about the soil and the region in France. Fruity notes of whatever. Their waiter replaced him once he left, and took their meal order. Finally they were alone.

No matter how many first dates she’d endured, most of them as an escort, this part was always the hardest: what to talk about. Presumably it should be easier since she knew Alec, but she found herself second guessing all of her go-to topics.

Hannah took a large sip of wine. “Are you staying in London for a bit?”

“Aye, took a teaching job, but it’s temporary.”

“Teaching young officers how to be a proper detective, then?”

“Something like that. This time I’m doing field training, ‘cause apparently my lectures are boring.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Erm… I’ve got a flat in Balham for now.”

“Oh?” Her stomach sank. He’d been nearby long enough to have found a job and a place to live, and only just now reached out to her. Not even! He’d gone through the trouble of figuring out her work information instead. Was he showing off his detective skills? Was this some sort of warning? What would he have done if she _had_ charged him?

“Yes. It’s--I only just arrived. Haven’t even unpacked. Wasn’t sure it would work out, but...” He shrugged. Still hadn’t touched his wine.

“And the first thing your sister does when you get here is set you up on a blind date?”

“She doesn’t want me to be alone.” He picked up his wine glass and stared at it contemplatively as he swirled around the contents. “I almost gave you a ring when I got to Balham, but I didn’t know if you’d want to see me. Last time I was a miserable sod, and it had been a while...”

She softened ever so slightly. “You had a good reason to be. You were going through hell.”

“I’m a lot less miserable now.”

“Right now, or in general?”

“Generally speaking. But being with you helps. Always has.” He hid his words behind the glass of wine before he took a sip.

Her heart sped up. There were moments, like this, when she thought he reciprocated her feelings. His reaction to finding out she had become an escort among them. Back when that was all new, she’d told Helen thinking she could trust her best mate. That had been the last time she openly trusted a friend. The massive row that followed had affected their friendship for years to come.

Alec had come down to help Helen move out of their shared flat. Though by the time he arrived, Hannah and Helen had gotten over the intensity of their conflict and settled into more of a cold war. Still, her friendship had been a difficult loss. Alec sat with Hannah for the longest time in Helen’s empty room, consoling her, offering advice. It was probably the longest time a man’s arm had been around her without wanting sex. She’d gotten to know his heartbeat, and his warmth. Those things never really left her, either.

Their eyes met across the table, and she almost brought up that day, when he spoke first.

“On the… date… I won’t talk about Sandbrook and all that rubbish, so what should I talk about?”

Hannah’s floaty feeling disappeared in a snap. Right, this isn’t about them. Summoning an air of cool, businesslike grace, she went over the things men do on dates that annoy or bore most women. Then she laid out the things women like. (Things she liked).

Her lecture went on until their food arrived, and it was about then that she realized she’d started to sound a bit flippant. She waited for him to make some derisive comment about the way his food was arranged in a sculpture to lighten the mood, but instead he went quiet. He ate a bite, and kept his gaze downward.

“Everything all right?” Hannah asked.

A subtle anguish flickered across his features, then he looked at her. “Have I upset you?”

“No, why d’you ask?” She began to arrange her place setting just to have something to do with her hands.

He squinted at her in suspicion. “You’re doing that thing you do when you’re bothered, but don’t want to be confrontational. Tell me if I’ve upset you, Han.”

She blew out a breath that rustled her fringe. “It’s only that–you see–I’m confused about one thing. I thought you despised my work, so why would you actively seek it out?”

He swallowed thickly before answering. “I-It’s not that I despise–I mean, maybe at first, but that was... Too much has happened since, and I care more about, about–” he sighed, “–you. About your friendship, than to let it get in the way. And maybe, well, it was a stupid way for me to try to show it. That I’m over all of that and I want to be around you. I’m sorry. It seems dodgy now that I think on it.”

Hannah blinked so tears wouldn’t fill her eyes, but it was no use. “Oh.” She smiled sheepishly as she dabbed her eyes. “S-so there was no police database involved. No–”

“Absolutely not. I remembered a few details you’ve mentioned over the years and pieced things together. Found you after a bit of searching on the internet on my personal laptop.”

Her guard lowered almost as swiftly as it had been raised. It was indeed a weird way to show her that he’s over it, but escorting wasn’t exactly a common hurdle for a friendship to overcome. And yeah, it was stupid, because now she’d just fall in love with him all over again for about the twentieth time. She finished her glass of wine as she fought the threat of bittersweet tears, and he poured her another at her consent.

“Are _you_  all right?” he asked with that absurdly tender look in his eyes.

“Yeah. Sorry.” She gave a watery smile when he put his hand on hers. Then the waiter arrived with their meals, and he withdrew his hand. 

They ate the remainder of their meal, and eased into a far more enjoyable conversation. They had always had similar taste when it came to novels, so it was no surprise that they were both in the midst of the same one. He asked about her work, if she’d finished her next book (he had been keeping an eye out), where she’d travelled to lately. It no longer felt like a dating lesson – in fact, he didn’t ask about it again.

After their waiter finished clearing the table of dinner plates, a different waiter brought over a special dessert: An arrangement of elegant chocolate truffles and candied rose petals.

“Happy anniversary. May you have many happy years to come,” the waiter said, then turned to Hardy. “The champagne is on its way, sir.”

Alec and Hannah exchanged a confused look.

“We, uh, didn’t order this,” Alec began, looking slightly terrified.

“Oh, my apologies, sir. Wrong table.” He picked up the tray and went off to search for the right table.

Hannah laughed behind her hand. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Why? We’re not–”

“I know, but free chocolate truffles?”

His smile broadened. “If you want truffles, I’ll order truffles.”

“I didn’t until they were sat in front of me.”

“But what if those were special anniversary truffles?”

“Then I’ll take the eternally single truffles.” She tossed her hair and smoothed her dress. “No shame when it comes to chocolate.”

He watched her, a dazzled look in his eyes. “Want to go for a walk?”

“Yeah. Let’s get out of this place.”

The crisp London evening welcomed them as they stepped outside. Bishop's Square teemed with people enjoying a small musical performance on the lawn. Hannah, in her distracted delight, struggled with pulling on her cardigan. Alec helped her find the arm hole, and off they went. 

There were many shops and restaurants around the corner, but they preferred to just meander in each other’s company. Eventually they reached an indie bookshop, which neither of them could ignore no matter how engaged in conversation they had been.

When it was time to depart, Alec hailed a taxi, and they rode together to her home. Hannah almost reached for his hand on the seat between them, but realized she was meant to help prepare him for a date with someone else. Her mood slipped, and she hesitated. When had she foregone giving him the fictitious experience he'd asked for in place of this strange hybrid? She chanced a peek at his hand again, and swore it had moved closer to hers.

His mobile rang–Daisy checking in. Hannah stared out of the window the remainder of the drive as they talked.

Hardy told the cab to wait as they pulled up to Hannah’s home, and then walked with her to the doorstep.

“It was good to see you again,” he said. “This was–it was a treat.”

His sincerity made her smile despite her unease. “Yeah.”

“I, um… thanks.”

There was a brief, awkward silence where they just stood there smiling and avoiding eye contact.

“Do you feel prepared?” she asked.

“For what? Oh. Shite, I almost forgot.” He shifted his posture and made a face. “I suppose. Though I’m having second thoughts about the whole thing.”

“Yeah? How come?”

He scratched the back of his head. “I think you’ve spoilt me. Set the bar a bit high.”

“But you don’t have to go to a place like that with her. I thought I’d take you somewhere way out of your comfort zone to show that you can make it through.”

“I’m not talking about the restaurant.”

“O-oh.”

Hannah felt her stomach swoop in a way it hadn’t done in years. She moved closer to him, pulled by the tide of his confession. Or, almost confession. He looked her over like he had done earlier, when he first saw her. Then she could see it, plain as day. He felt something for her. She took in a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“What should I do?” he asked, so softly she thought he was talking to himself.

“Kiss me goodnight.”

He nodded with a nervous swallow, and moved even closer. He put a hand on her arm and she felt the warmth of his fingers through her cardigan. She licked her lips in anticipation, but when he leant in to kiss her, he kissed her cheek. Close enough to the corner of her lips that she shivered, but too far for what she wanted. Her eyes fluttered shut as the pressure lingered. Then he pulled away.

He went for the cheek. That could mean anything–he preferred to keep it friends, he’s too nervous to go for the lips after having not kissed a woman in forever. She probably had it all wrong, anyway. Seeing things that weren’t there just because she’d wanted it to be for over a decade.

When she opened her eyes, he seemed strained, like he was holding back. His chest rose and fell with steadying breaths, his eyes intense. It frightened her how much she wanted him to let go. Would he come in if she asked? Come to her bed? This was too special, whatever sort of bond they had kindled over the years. She’d ruin it all in a heartbeat. Helen wouldn’t stand for it, either.

“That’s good. A kiss on the cheek is a safer bet for a first date,” she said.

He shook his head slightly, hurt entering his eyes. “I–okay.”

Instantly she regretted not inviting him inside, but she needed to do this right for a change. How to keep her friend, her career, and the man she’d fallen in love with in her life.

“I can’t go on this bloody date,” he said with a clenched jaw.

Hannah reached up to fix the collar of his button-up. “You should. Your sister knows you, so she wouldn’t do this unless it was someone that she thought truly had a chance.”

“But what if I can’t stop think–” He sighed in exasperation. “What if it’s a disaster?”

“Then give me a ring, and I'll take you out for a pint to help you forget about it.” She tried to hold his gaze so he could see how deeply she cared for him.

He smiled half-heartedly at the ground. “I’ll look forward to that, then.”

_to be continued..._

  
****


	2. The real date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trope: sharing a bed  
> author: Lostinfic  
> Beta: fadewithfury <3

For the blind date, Hardy’s sister had given him nothing but an instruction to look out for a woman with a yellow carnation, and an address.  
He assumed it was the address of a restaurant.  
He should have known better than to assume his sister would do the normal thing.  
It was a train. Not a normal train either, but a “romantic railway adventure”.  
His stomach twisted in a knot at the mere thought of getting stuck in there for hours with a complete stranger. But backing out didn’t sit well with him. Standing up someone was cruel. Anyway, as Hannah had said, his sister wanted what was best for him. Whoever Helen had set him up with would, at the very least, be a decent person.

He sighed thinking of Hannah. Considering how she’d encouraged him to go on this bloody blind date-- even after he all but confessed his feelings for her during their fake date-- it was clear it was never going to happen with her. He had better move on and start looking for someone else.

Easier said than done. As much as the memory of their fake date made him cringe because she’d rejected his advances, it also came with a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. Her laughter, the teasing hint of bra, standing close in the bookshop as they flipped through novels. Paper and cherry blossoms. And feeling all right.

For years, he hadn’t questioned his friendship with his younger sister’s flatmate. Even when Hannah became an escort and moved out, they stayed in touch. When they hang out, times flies, and that was enough for him. Nothing more.  
Not until recently.  
With the divorce and her visits, he noticed how much they had in common now after years of all-consuming careers, heartbreaks and successes. She had grown and so had he. And once he began seeing her as the strong woman she had become, he couldn’t go back to thinking of her as just a friend. But he had to.

Enough about Hannah.

Hardy straightened his tie and jacket. From the platform, a sign indicated the Bar & Lounge coach, and he headed there.

The train company had hired Helen as their art director— it’s how she’d obtained a pair of tickets-- and she came up with the idea of a 1930s theme. The staff wore stiff burgundy and gold uniforms. Inside the wagons, varnished wood gleamed in the halo of fake oil lamps. Patrons sat in plush leather seats around art deco furniture.

Hardy made his way through the couples gathered inside. Many had embraced the vintage theme, others had dressed more casually. Thankfully for him, a suit worked for all occasions and eras.

The train stirred and swayed forward. He had yet to find his date. Every time he met a woman’s eyes, the twist in his stomach tightened.

Someone tapped his shoulder.  
“Hey you.”  
He recognized that voice. His heart skipped a beat. He turned, and his jaw dropped. Hannah stood there, wearing something vintage and silky, like she’d just stepped out of a black and white movie. Ruby red lips framed a beaming smile.  
“What are you doing here?” he stammered.  
“I have a date.”  
“My sister set you up too?”  
“No, another one of our friends. Gemma, you met her I think at the garden party.”  
“Yeah.”  
“So yours is tonight too? They got a group deal on the train tickets or what?” She looked over his shoulder. “So where’s the lucky lady?”  
“Haven’t found her yet. I don’t even know her name, Helen didn’t want me looking her up in the police database. Seen anyone with a yellow carnation?”  
“Like this one?” She showed him the flower she was holding. “Looks like Gemma and Helen are in cahoots.”  
Hardy gaped at the flower. Hannah was his blind date. She laughed, but he didn’t think it was funny. Not at all. What was his sister thinking? He’d never said a word to her about liking Hannah. Was he that obvious?

Regardless, now Hannah was stuck with him when she no doubt expected someone more charming and younger. Basically, not the kind of person who needs a practice date with a prostitute.

For the first time since they’d met, the prospect of spending an evening in her company filled him with dread. What if she thought he was behind all of it, not just his sister?

“Sorry, I didn’t know she would do that,” he groaned.  
“Yeah, no, me neither.”  
She laughed, and it was too high-pitched for genuine amusement but he reciprocated with his own nervous titter. He tugged at the knot of his tie.  
“I don’t know what made her think I’d want to— that we were a match.”  
“Right.” She crossed her arms, rubbing her shoulder. “Look at his this way: you won’t have to worry about small talk.”

They ordered drinks and sat at the bar. An uneasy silence stretched between them as they pretended to listen to the piano player.

He rang his sister to berate her, but she wouldn’t answer her phone-- on purpose, he was sure. Hannah looked at him with a tight-lipped smile.

“If you’d prefer to, ah, mingle...” He indicated the other passengers, but they were clearly all paired up already.  
Hannah shrugged, seemingly coming to the same conclusion as him.

The maître d’ announced supper, and passengers moved to the restaurant cart.

A waiter assigned them a banquette. Tea candles decorated the table, their flames made the crystalware sparkle.  
“This is nice,” Hannah commented, smoothing the white tablecloth.  
He nodded absentmindedly, pretending to peruse the menu when in fact he was observing her. Hard to tell how she felt about being stuck with him for the evening. Granted, she’d enjoyed herself last time but it had been work for her, to help him. He glanced at her over his menu, their eyes met, and both quickly looked away.

A waiter took their orders, leaving them with nothing to do. Hannah swirled the wine in her glass.  
“I’ve been thinking,” she began, “I know this escort, a man, he’s real awful, don’t know how he’s still in business.”  
Where was this going?  
“Anyway, we should set your sister up with him, you know, to get back at her.”

Hannah grinned mischievously and Hardy chuckled. They talked about all the unpleasant people they knew and made up devious plans to deceive Helen. They laughed so much, patrons at nearby tables glared at them for disrupting the quiet romantic atmosphere. Of course, the irony didn’t escape Hardy: they had such fun thinking of revenge plans that it proved Helen had been right to play this trick on them to begin with.

After supper, Hardy reclined in his chair, rubbing his full stomach. He hadn’t had such a good meal in a long time. He was usually prone to motion sickness, but this train moved slowly. It crawled across the rail, allowing passengers to admire the pastoral landscape. He couldn’t tell their location or destination; fields, forests and suburbs looked the same across England as far as he was concerned. Perhaps, if he’d paid closer attention a sign would have given him a clue, but all his attention was diverted towards Hannah.

A waiter filled their cups with tea, and announced the train would stop soon for “entertainment”. They disembarked at a disused train station turned into a theater. An old-fashioned marquee announced the show’s title: “On the road to love.” On stage, two rubbish actors pretended to fall in love to the tune of 1930s jazz songs. Throughout the first act, Hannah and Hardy exchanged eyerolls and stifled laughter. When the actors began tap dancing, they barely kept it together.

At last, the intermission came, they were the first out the door. They bypassed the bar and headed straight outside.

The brisk night air was welcome after a heavy meal and a stuffed theater. Hands in pockets, Hardy leaned against the wall and stared at the silhouette of a town beyond the rails and bushes. Hannah imitated his position, close enough that their shoulders touched.

“We could get out,” he said. “Walk over there. Find a ride. End it here.”  
“Do you want to leave?”  
“Do you?”  
She shrugged and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Hardy smiled to himself. She didn’t seem to hate being stuck with him tonight after all. And so far neither of them had brought up what happened at the end of their fake date; there was hope their friendship would survive.  
“I suppose it’s not so bad,” he said.  
“Yeah, not bad. Tell you what though, we can stay at the bar during the second act.”

A few other couples had the same idea. Show tunes could still be heard through the wall.

The bar design recreated a prohibition-era speakeasy. For a moment, Hardy entertained the idea of personifying a character. Someone cool, a la Humphrey Bogart. He wished he had a cigarette. As they stood at the bar to order drinks, he gave Hannah the old once-over from her black heels to her smokey eyes. But as soon as she caught him looking, he lost whatever cool he’d mustered. She bumped him with her shoulder, lips curling in a playful smile. He didn’t stand a chance.

Once sat at a corner table, they sipped a dram of whiskey and reminisced. She ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass, eyes focused on the circular motion.

After a moment of silence, she said: “You know, I used to fancy you, when I lived with Helen.”

She said it with a giggle, looking at him through her eyelashes. He remembered a time when she would ceaselessly flirt with him. With her, he could never tell genuine feelings from teasing. Except a few times, lingering hugs and gazing in each other’s eyes. But he’d had to ignore that because back then he’d recently married so he wasn’t interested. Ironic, that the roles were now reversed: he fancied her-- more than fancy-- and she wasn’t interested. Bad timing.

“I knew you did,” he said.  
“You did! How?”  
“You weren’t subtle. I was scared every time my sister left the room.”  
“Scared you’d give in to temptation?” she joked.  
“No, it wasn’t like that.”  
“No, I know. You’re one of the good guys. Too good.”  
“Too good for what?”  
“For girls who are outrageous flirts.” She winked.  
Hannah dropped her shoe and slipped her toes under the hem of his trousers. He’d seen women do that in films, but had never experienced it for himself. Although, he couldn’t explain why, he enjoyed it. His cheeks heated up, and his pulse quickened. He forgot what they were talking about. She’d always loved to make him fluster.

The show ended, and the spectators loudly walked out, disrupting the moment.

Back on board the train, a staff member approached them: “If you would follow me, I will show you to you sleeper car now.”  
Hardy and Hannah exchanged a surprised look, neither of them knew this lasted overnight. His only experience with sleeper cars involved bunk beds. But of course, a “romantic railway adventure” didn’t have bunks. The man opened the door on a cozy compartment with a double bed taking up most of the room. Hannah asked if they have another room available, but all compartments were occupied tonight.

At least, the train company had the foresight of selling overnight essentials such as toothbrushes. But no pyjamas, of course.

“Lend me your shirt,” Hannah demanded. “I can’t sleep in this dress.” She tugged at the material over her ribs, wincing in discomfort.  
“What about me?”  
“You can’t sleep in this dress either.”  
“And what am I supposed to sleep in?”  
“Your pants. Unless you’re going commando.” She wiggled her eyebrows.  
“I’m not— ugh. Alright.”  
He hooked his tie and jacket behind the door, and removed his shirt with his back to her.  
“You’re such a prude. I’ve seen you in a much worse state than this.”  
“When?”  
“At Helen’s, after your divorce.”  
“Yeah, I looked worse, but I’m sure I was fully dressed.”  
“Well, you’d better get undressed while you look good.”  
Was she joking or flirting?

When he turned to hand her his t-shirt, her eyes lingered on his chest, and she bit her bottom lip.

She put the shirt over her clothes and shimmed the dress down her body to pull it off. More wiggling and she extracted her bra through the top.  
“Tadaa!” she said like a magician.

It was his turn to linger. His shirt was just long enough to cover her bum, showing off her legs. He always liked her legs.

She looked expectantly at his trousers. There was no point in putting it off. As soon as he popped the first button, Hannah wolf-whistled. Without thinking, Hardy rotated his hips, and she bust out laughing.  
“I can be funny too,” he mumbled.  
“I know.” She smiled at him then cocked her head. “I thought you’d be skinnier.”  
“I am.”  
“Yeah, but there’s, you know, meat too.”  
What was that supposed to mean? He crossed his arms to cover his chest, but it left his crotch uncovered, so he crossed his leg.  
“Oh, just get in the bloody bed.”  
Hannah smirked, but charitably held back another quip.

In the silence, he noticed it was raining, its pitter-patter on the metal roof echoed through the compartment. Hannah turned off the main light, leaving just the flame of an electric candle by the bed.

They looked at each other, then at the bed, then at each other again.

He hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since Tess. The last few years of celibacy and loneliness caught up to him all at once. He yearned for it, physically ached for it, to lie in bed with Hannah, hold her in his arms until morning.

“Well, I--”  
“There’s something…” he began.  
“Hm?”  
“Something you said I should do at the end of the date.”  
He gulped, hoping she understood what he meant.  
“Kiss me goodnight?”  
“Yeah.”  
This time, he wouldn’t chicken out. She stepped forward and his mouth went dry. She caught him by surprise, pecking his lips. It happened too quickly. By the time he opened his eyes, she had slipped in the bed.

Well, there was only one thing to do now. Nothing left to delay the inevitable. He had to get in bed. With Hannah. She patted the space beside her, and he prayed she couldn’t hear his hammering heart.

Lying in bed, neither of them spoke. Every muscle in his body was stiff. The train’s wheels clattered on the tracks and raindrops splashed on the roof. And just when he thought he couldn’t take more of this tension, Hannah giggled.

She turned on her side towards him. Some light filtered through the curtains, just enough to illuminate the outline of her face.  
“This is a bit weird,” she whispered.  
His whole body relaxed, and he turned to face her too.  
“I can think of worse,” he said.  
“Yeah?”  
“Imagine if it’d been a real blind date, with another woman, and I’d be stuck with her.”  
“Maybe you would’ve liked her.”  
“I don’t think so.”  
How could he possibly like another woman when he had such feelings for Hannah? And right now, this moment was everything to him. He scooted closer, just a smidge. She folded her legs and their knees touched.  
“So what, you’ll stay single forever? Tess really did a number on you.”  
“I’m waiting for the right person.”  
She searched his face, and he wondered how obvious he was, surely she must see the affection in his eyes. She blinked and looked down. A strand of hair caught in her eyelashes, and he gently swiped it behind her ear.

“What you said about after my divorce.” He continued to whisper although there was no reason for it. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for that. For checking up on me.”  
“Don’t mention it.”

Her toes tickled his ankle and quite naturally, as though they’d been doing it for years, her leg slid between his.

“You know, I wanted to check up on you when you were in Broadchurch too.”  
I would have loved that, he thought.  
“I worked a lot,” he said.

There must have been more to say, things to explain and confess and profess, but not now, not when the moment was just right.

When he lost Tess, it wasn’ther betrayal that hurt the most, but losing that one person who knew him better than anyone else. It seemed impossible to build this level of intimacy and familiarity with another person in his lifetime. But maybe he didn’t have to start from the ground up, he and Hannah already had a foundation. All he had to do was add bricks and hope it didn’t crumble down.

“Han?”  
“Yeah?” she mumbled sleepily.  
“I-- I would’ve liked that, you visiting in Broadchurch…” He took a deep breath. Why was this so hard? “I thought about you.”  
“Good.”  
He chuckled at that. He kissed her forehead, and her eyes drifted shut with a smile.

They slept, a deep slumber despite the noisy train and unfamiliar surroundings.

Hardy woke up with one side of the body decidedly warmer than the other. Not just warmer-- heavier. And as the last fog of sleep cleared from his mind, he realized two things: Hannah had hogged all the blankets and she’d snuggled up to him. An arm around his waist, a leg across his thighs, and her head on his chest. And it appeared he’d reciprocated the snuggling. A hand rested on her ribs. High up on her ribs. A confused debate of semantics and physiology took place in his mind, and he came to the conclusion that the area his hand rested on was more breast than side; he’d tried to cop a feel in his sleep.

Hardy cracked opened an eye. As far as he could tell, Hannah was still sleeping. But if he moved his hand now, he risked waking her up and appearing more guilty than he was. He also became aware of another embarrassing situation: she had twisted in her sleep and buttons of the shirt had come undone, revealing the swell of her breasts. Of its own accord, his thumb moved, stroking the curve of her flesh, right along the underside. Before he could make himself stop, her nipple visibly pebbled under the cotton on the shirt-- his shirt.

A small noise, suspiciously close to a moan, escaped Hannah’s lips. She snuggled closer, and the hand on his stomach drifted lower. Hardy drew in a sharp breath. His arousal became more prominent. Embarrassing flashbacks from his teenage days made him cringe. He could put it all down to a physiological response, but he knew damn well it was Hannah’s proximity that caused the blood flow to his groin.

His groan made Hannah giggle.  
“You’re awake,” he accused.  
“Barely… sorry.”  
She tried to roll off him, but he automatically tightened the arm around her. She looked up at him, eyes full of questions.

Stay. Don’t go. But his mouth wouldn’t form the words.

“I can’t tell what you want,” she said.  
“Can’t you? Don’t you know?”

It was all so serious suddenly, so real and raw in the morning light. No place to hide.

“I asked you to kiss me, and you kissed my cheek,” she said, eyebrows knitted in a frown. “I turn out to be your blind date and you’re unhappy about it. I flirt with you all night and you-- I don’t know.”

Possibly, he hadn’t been as transparent as he thought.

“Sorry. I wasn’t sure. When you flirt, I just assume you’re taking the piss, so...”  
“Sometimes it’s easier to joke than, I don’t know, open up.”  
She picked at the bed sheet. He rarely got to see her so vulnerable,and it made his heart capsize. He would protect her from the world if she let him.  
“But you’re so-- and I’m…” He sighed. “You can do better.”  
“It’s not for you to say.”  
“I suppose not.”

He relaxed his arm around her, and she propped herself up on an elbow, keeping her other hand on his chest.

“I like you, Alec.”  
“You used to, it’s what you said.”  
“I still do. A lot. But I’m…” She let out a shaky breath. “Our friendship is really important to me.”  
“Right. So… you only want to be friends?”  
“I’m just saying I don’t have the best track record with relationships.”  
“Me neither.”  
“You were married for almost 20 years.”  
“Exactly!”  
She chuckled, and that sound made his heart soar. He covered her hand with his.  
“As I’ve said: I can wait for the right person.”  
“You meant me?”  
“Of course.” He caressed her cheek. “Looks like there are a few things I need to clarify. Beginning with this...”  
His fingers drifted to her hair and, as he raised his head, he brought her mouth to his. He wasn’t content with a peck this time. He moved his lips against hers, slowly, savouring the kiss.  
“That alright?” he asked in a breath.  
She nodded and pressed forward. She deepened the kiss as he reclined. They kissed to their heart’s content. Whenever they broke for air, and she smiled at him with heavy-lidded eyes, he had to remind himself it wasn’t a dream. He couldn’t wait to hold her and kiss her again tomorrow and the day after and all the ones after that for as long as she would let him.

Hannah straddled his legs. Her long hair tickled his chest. It took all his willpower not to grab her hips and tug her down on his erection.  
“Anything else you want to clarify?” she asked  
“I think I’m in love with you, Hannah.”

Judging by her widening eyes, she hadn’t expected such a serious answer. He hadn’t expected to say it either. Momentarily, he feared he’d ruined everything and scared her, but her features softened in a warm smile.

“Me too.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so incredibly happy. So light. And it occurred to him he wasn’t falling in love so much as he was rising in love. He guffawed at his own silly thought.

“A smile looks good on you,” she said.  
“You look good on me.”

She shook her head fondly and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her, thoroughly snogging her.

He slipped a hand under the shirt, fingers splayed over the dip in her lower back. A groan of surprise escaped his lips when she pressed her hips to his. Even through two layers of underwear, he could feel her heat.

“It’s been a while,” he said in a hoarse voice.  
“For me too.” He quirked an eyebrow and she added, “I mean for real, with someone I care about.”  
“Okay.”  
“Do you want to wait?”  
“No.”  
“Oh, thank god.”

Hardy rolled over her and peppered kisses down her throat and collarbone. Fumbling with the shirt, he finally accessed her breasts. He licked a line up her sternum and took each nipple between his lips. Hannah squirmed under him, fingers raking through his hair.

He tentatively touched between her legs, inner thighs first, then grazing over her underwear. Her jerking hips and needy pants encouraged him. He removed her knickers throwing them over his shoulder, much to her amusement. He sat on his his heels, and with his forearms under her knees, he yanked her closer. He dropped butterfly kisses along her calves, making Hannah giggle.

“I need you,” she moaned, reaching into his pants.  
Her hand on his cock made him curse. He thrusted into her fist until she guided him to where she needed him. As he pushed in her, he entwined their fingers above her head. And there was that carnal pleasure, but most of all there was closeness. Every nerve ending suffused with the smell and sight and touch of the other. And it was in a tight embrace, all clawing fingers, salty kisses and smacking skin, that they found bliss.

(They missed breakfast.)


End file.
